


Dusk and Shiver

by omarandjohnny



Series: Of Beasts and Fire [4]
Category: Jonah Hex (2010), The Lone Ranger (2013)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Flashbacks, Gore, M/M, Tattoos, Violence, Western, cannibal and arsonist in love, poetry in motion, sleepy cannibals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:06:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omarandjohnny/pseuds/omarandjohnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long day's thievery, Burke soothes Butch with a song. In doing so, he soothes himself with memories of home and a welcome dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dusk and Shiver

**Author's Note:**

> This is 'a day in the life' and not specifically linear to the major series timeline.
> 
> (Poem quotes are taken from Loreena McKennitt's adaptation of The Lady of Shalott)
> 
> As Burke wasn't given a first name in Jonah Hex, we had to pick one for him. We decided on Ruadhri, Celtic for 'red king.' Pretty fitting for a ginger arsonist, yes? 
> 
> Also, all credit for the revised final lines of the poem go to my co-conspirator, Bloodylocks Bathory ;)

The heist had been one of their more physically taxing pursuits; pounds of stolen goods and ammunition loading down their already overworked horses. Barret set Frank and Jesús to work as soon as they hit the first safe clearing in the desert. It was a haunting stretch of land, infested by the ghosts of long dead brush and abandoned encampments. Frank groaned, knowing Jesús would make him shoulder the brunt of the work. He surveyed the grounds, eyeing the small boulders soon to be resting spots near their campfire.

"Quit yer whining, Fancy, or I'll dip yer bonnet ties in my inkwell!" Barret teased. Frank playfully gasped, and proceeded with the task at hand. 

Butch and Burke arrived soon after, lagging behind only once to indulge in a bit of post-job 'celebrations.' While their merry band of brothers kept any objections to themselves (Frank even quietly praising the special friendship), the couple still sought out privacy whenever possible. Such a prize, this alone time, was seldom won and always cherished.

"Aye, you did take your time with that old shite, din' ye?" Burke purred, reliving the sight of Cavendish gutting the ancient caretaker. He had watched, grinning ear to ear, as Butch licked the knife after each slice made to the burlier man. Peaks of mustard yellow fat obscuring his view, Butch grimaced, wanting desperately to find what he craved within the fatty cocoon of muck. The more time he spent with Cavendish, the more he loved the sight of all that red spilling forth. 

Butch nuzzled into Burke's words, snaking a hand down the back of his companion's trousers. He swirled his fingers around a few stray hairs that dappled the crease of Burke's ass and replied," Well, good eatin' takes a while. You know that." 

Burke looked into Cavendish's eyes, smile stretching his tattoo across the horizon of his face. "Oh, yes. I do indeed." He shivered as Butch pulled and swirled the sensitively placed ginger hair, not wanting him to stop. And in thinking it, Butch soon did. Straightening up to remount their horses, the couple spotted the camp quickly coming to life just ahead.

The couple sped up to the site, and tied their mounts with the others. Burke watched Frank busily tending to the fire, musing as it licked at Frank's gloved hands as he positioned a pot within.

"Any chance of a whisky stew tonight, flower?" Frank shook his head in reply, gesturing at the sparse ingredients to his immediate right. 

"Sorry, got nothin' but a few old spuds and the last a'that dried meat boss picked up."

Burke shrugged, too tired to bemoan the lack of staple delights. Instead, he set to help Cavendish settle their square of camp. He noticed the light had dimmed in his friend's eyes the moment they hit the site. Weariness was a strange look for Butch (though, he prefered it to the look of illness). Still, it made Butch's face worry in a strangely upsetting way. Burke brushed his hand against Butch's lower back as they finished, and sat down next to him by the fire. 

He passed a skin of water as he spoke,"You've any room left for supper?" 

Butch shook his head as he took off his hat, slowly bringing it to rest on his knee. "Nah, I'm goin' to put mah head down. Ain't worth a good goddamn tonight." He pulled himself up from the cold stone, lumbering towards their makeshift bed. He then proceeded to drop like a sack of old horseshoes in the dust. With a half-smile and a quick goodnight to Frank, Burke followed Butch's dragging footsteps to their destination.

The boys, seeing their leader bedding down, knew to eat quickly and wind things down for the evening. Barret and Frank dished up with Jesús, and then split off to their own corners.

Burke laid his derby bowler next to Cavendish's wide-brimmed hat, and paralleled the movement by sidling against Butch's frame. He unbuttoned his shirt, wanting to be as close as possible to Cavendish. Not sensing any hesitation or argument from Butch, Burke rested his arm on his companion, cradling Butch's waist with a lazy warmth. 

"Tuckered out, Firefly. Awful tired," Butch whispered hoarsely. 

"I know, Luv. Care for a wee lullaby?" Burke hoped for a yes.

With a subtle, surprising nod, Butch gave one. 

Burke closed his eyes, and began to sing.

\----------

_Willows whiten, aspens quiver, little breezes dusk and shiver, thro' the wave that runs forever, by the island in the river, floating down to Camelot..."_

_Ma brushes Aoife's hair as she joins a sing-song tune to a poem from the Tennyson book she received at Christmas. A lavish gift, considering their Spartan country lifestyle. She treasured the leatherbound volume, and read it often to Aoife during the 'bad times.' Aoife loved The Lady of Shalott most of all, not knowing that her Ma edited on the fly. Never did she learn of the Lady's true demise. To Aoife, it was a fairy story about a princess in a tower; To Ma, it was a romantic take on her daughter's pitiable existence._

_A curious, ginger-haired boy crept closer to the doorjamb, straining to hear every note of the song. He knew the fields were calling him (even the smallest of lads had to pull their weight on working days). But, oh...how lovely Ma's voice sounded that afternoon._

_"He rode along the barley sheaves, the sun came dazzling through the leaves-"_

\----------

"And flamed upon the brazen greaves of bold Sir Lancelot," Burke continued, feeling Butch's body relax with every line.

Wanting to be even closer, he tugged at Cavendish's hip as a cue to turn and face him. Butch obliged, letting out a boar-like grunt as he rolled. Burke repaid the kindness with softly placed kisses against Butch's eyelids. A smile grew from Cavendish's marred face, and he in turn peppered nibbling kisses along the blooming fern patterns that sprouted from Burke's collar up to the moko lines that marked his chin. Closing the distance, he opened his mouth and latched onto Burke's. An unusually toothless kiss, devoid of Butch's craven hunger, but warm and welcome all the same. Burke moaned into the embrace, relishing every moment of the alien gentleness. Not biting Burke's tongue, but sleepily worshipping it with his jagged mouth, he gave one final warm once-over before releasing the suction. He ended the encounter with a damp peck against the first inked line on Burke's lower lip, and then rolled over once more.

"Awful, awful tired," he uttered. Burke took the hint, and went on singing as he stared into the dying campfire ahead. 

"His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd, on burnish'd hooves his warhorse trode, from underneath his helmet flowed, his coal-black curls as on he rode." Burke's marked grin spread upon singing the line, and he couldn't help but ache to run his fingers through Butch's mane. 

\----------

_Ruadhri ran inside, the rain beating against the bare nape of his neck._

_"By God, and it's a terror brewing!" His Da bellowed behind him as he forced the door closed. A spring storm halting their work for the day, the boys huddled by the stove in the kitchen._

_"Da, can I?" The young boy motioned in the direction of the singing overhead. His father nodded with a 'but, quietly' gesture._

_Ruadhri tiptoed, pretending the floor was made of eggshells. Aoife had spent more than a month in bed during this most recent 'bad time.' As usual, Ma performed all non-kitchen duties from the cramped space of the girl's bedroom. Darning needles, spools, several misshapen piles of laundry to be mended and put away, a pair of identical rosaries, a bible, and of course- Tennyson._

_"She left the web, then she left the loom, she made three paces thro' the room," Ma sang. The tune had evolved since she first began performing it for Aoife. It took on a sinister majesty during the rough days, Ruadhri was convinced he was the only one to notice it. It made him come over in gooseflesh._

_Ma went on, and as she peaked with," the mirror crack'd from side to side!" the lightning outside split the sky in twain. The resounding boom shook the boy down to his shabby leather soles. A strange warmth grew in the root of his belly, and coursed through his legs. It frightened him, in a good way._

_The gooseflesh transformed into a full body shudder, and he swiftly--but softly--ran to his own room, shutting the door before bursting into tears. Ecstatic tears, happy tears, knowing tears. He sniffled, and went to the window to watch the storm rage on._

\----------

"And at the closing of the day, she loosed the chain and down she lay, the broad stream bore her far away..."

He cooed the end notes into Butch's ear, garnering a sleepy grunt of approval. Taking his free arm, Burke slipped out of his shirtsleeve, the Samoan-style markings a stark contrast with the lighter fuzz on his forearm. He took the bare limb, and wrapped it under Butch's untucked shirttails. He wanted nothing more than just a bit of skin to skin as they slept under the stars. With no objection from his partner, he kissed Butch's neck, and sang them both to sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The coast bended with the sea, the overcast spring day doing nothing to dampen the lustre of the emerald waters against the rich earthtones of the towering cliff._

_They lie as a singular being; two bodies intertwined. The crash of the late afternoon waves a violent, yet soothing lullaby. He watches them above, as though he were in the midst of an out of body experience. The lovers below, the dreamer above._

_The tattooed man kisses the scarred man, singing silent praises with every lick against the scarred man's mouth. The dreamer can feel the actions as the tattooed man performs them. The cool breeze rising from the coast becomes a perfect complement for the warmth that grows from his middle._

_He watches as the lovers embrace on the blanket below, so much toughened hide and marked flesh. For all the roughness, there is something heavenly about them. The dreamer wants to watch them forever, but a familiar tune begins to pull him back down to Earth-_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Burke's body jerked him awake with a start, and he had blink himself into the realization that he was not, in fact, plummeting to his death into a far away sea. Getting a strong whiff of Butch's unwashed locks, he stifled a relieved laugh. Home again, home again.

Feeling the last lines hanging unsung, he softly crooned into Butch's ear a revised ending,

"But Lancelot mused a little space, he said, he has a lovely face, God in his mercy lend him grace, the clever man of Shalott."

END.


End file.
